


Infinite Compatibility

by PreciselyVex (CrashEdit)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Be Kind Rewind, John dates people other than Sherlock here - but have faith!, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Party like its 1991, Video Dating AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrashEdit/pseuds/PreciselyVex
Summary: John Watson is a Gulf War vet whose sister just bought him a membership to one of those newfangled video dating services. 1991 never looked so good!MUSIC NOTESThe Three Songs I listened to, on a loop, while writing "Infinite Compatibility" were:"It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over" by Lenny Kravitz"Freedom '90" by George Michael"Somebody to Love" by Queen





	1. Take 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will post one new chapter a week, every Sunday morning (EST) for five weeks, beginning today, September 30, 2018 and ending October 28, 2018! 
> 
> Special thanks to the fantastic BakerStMel who, once again, was kind enough to Beta!
> 
> Infinite Compatibility's [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/97qxjw0v8wyq8bswn1qor5n1k/playlist/451p7cuwZqKVWPGshhQ1Ti?si=jzVOs46TS96bs8gN__6bYQ).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's willing to try anything once.

 

_The camcorder is rolling. On the monitor, timecode runs in the upper right of the frame._

_“Would you count to ten for me?”_

_“What? Why would you…?”_

_“Count to ten. To make sure the audio is--”_

_“Oh, of course. 1, 2, 3, 4...I really don’t know why I’m bloody doing this.”_

_John Watson sits on a light gray loveseat in a unexpectedly large room. Behind him is a dark gray wall with the words “Infinite Compatibility” painted on it in bright turquoise and orange. A boombox plays that sappy new “Robin Hood” song and John’s foot nervously taps in time as the AV guy fiddles with the levels. In truth, John knows exactly why he is bloody doing this and it’s all because of Harry. She does love putting him in uncomfortable spots._

_“Everything sounds good,” the tech says, abruptly shutting off Bryan Adams mid-croon and positioning himself behind the camera. The camera lens zooms in to John’s face, and the focus is set. “We are recording, whenever you are ready.”_

_Video-fucking-dating. A modern wonder, they said. Matchmaking via technology, they said. So very 21st century -- and yet, since they were still almost a decade shy of the actual turn of the century, John couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they should’ve just held off until then?_

_“You’re recording now?” John straightens in his chair, suddenly aware of the red light blinking above the camera.  “Oh, It’s-- okay, fantastic.”_

_There is an awkward pause._

_“Are you going to--”_

_“--no, you just go. Anytime.”_

_“You mean read the card?”_

_“Anytime you’re ready.”_

_John licks his lips, and reads from the index card he’d prepared in the waiting room. “Hello, I’m John, I’m recently returned from the Gulf War, where I served as an Army doctor, and I’m - I’m… looking to perhaps meet someone new. I enjoy...ah...” His eyes are wide in the frame, and it’s obvious he’s lost the thread. “I mean, there are lots of...things I enjoy. I mean, going out to um…” The tech silently shakes his head._

_Sweat begins to rise on the back of John’s neck, and impulsively, he puts the card down, and looks into the camera. “Look, this is my first time even trying something like this. I’m a nice guy, I really am. And maybe you are too. I hope so. So, if you’d like to go for a pint, maybe, or -- what’s the thing now? Meet up at a ‘coffeehouse,’ have a ‘latte’ or whatever? You know, just...just say the word.” John nods his head sharply, as if to end the piece, and then remembers the last bit. “Oh, and I’m -- I’m #1895.” He lifts the index card to show the numbers written on the back in bold magic marker. There’s a pause, and then he looks to the tech. “That alright?”_

_The camera stops, and the clip turns to static._

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

According to the Infinite Compatibility brochure, the company’s computer matches people up based on the eight-page questionnaire everyone filled out during their first assessment. Each questionnaire is reviewed to identify your particular “Personality Dimensions,” which are then entered (or “uploaded,” as the brochure said) into a computer. Using a patented algorithm, the Infinite Compatibility computer then compares your Dimensions with the Dimensions of all of the other available candidates, and spits out the names of the top three people you match with the closest. From there, you watch their individually recorded video introductions and choose the one you’d like to date.

Per the brochure, it was all very scientific, but John wasn’t getting his hopes up. To begin with, he wasn’t at all sure he’d actually want to date someone who shared the same Personality Dimensions as himself.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

His first match, #1123, a medical professor at Barts College named Mike, agreed to meet for a cuppa at a shop near campus. By the time John arrived, Mike had already found them a table, and stood as he approached.

Thirty minutes later, John found himself liking Mike quite a bit, but he didn’t buy for one second that they shared any Personality Dimensions whatsoever. Case in point: Mike was pleasant, polite, charming, and quite positive about everything, including Barts.

“It’s crazy that you teach in the Medical College.”

“I can’t believe you went to school here!” Mike shook his head. “I’m just glad you weren’t one of my students.”

“Are you?” John teased, eyeing Mike’s solid frame. “Because grades were very important to me, I’m just saying. I would’ve done anything to get an ‘A’.”

Mike, who’d been mid-pour, knocked over his teacup at the flirtation. “Shit. Sorry. I’m clumsy,” he said, as John rushed to his rescue with a handful of serviettes.

“Did I catch you off-guard?” John asked, after the spill had been sorted.

“Perhaps,” Mike admitted, blushing at the collar. “A bit forward, yeah?”

“Look, just to be clear, I may have gone to school here once upon a time, but you’re not my professor, and I am not your student,” John said. “Nothing would be untoward if you and I were to, you know, actually--”

“Actually _what_?” Mike asked, “John, we’ve known each other for less than an hour.”

“Don’t get upset,” John said, feeling defensive. “I was just speaking theoretically here,”

“Theoretically, right,” Mike nodded, and changed gears, dropping his voice. “So if I were to suggest that I cancel my next class and invite you over to my flat right now…?”

“I’d, um.” _Was this a test?_ John wondered. “I’d...be there in a heartbeat?”

“So much for theoretical,” Mike sighed, and stood up. “Listen, you’re a good-looking guy, and I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for a hook-up, John. If I don’t leave now, though, I am going to be late for class. Nice meeting you, and thanks for the tea.”

And just like that, #1123 was out the door, marking a rather inauspicious start for computer matching.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“So, you came on too strong.”

“I was just being friendly, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Bollocks. You were looking for sex. And call me Martha.”

Infinite Compatibility encourages clients to attend follow-up meetings with their Matchmaker Technologists after every date, to gain a deeper understanding of what a client is looking for.

John’s assigned Matchmaker was Martha Hudson, the actual owner of the business and a woman he’d clearly underestimated the first time he’d met her.

“Martha. Fine. But this is a dating service, isn’t it?” John challenged. “Nothing wrong with sex.”

“Of course not, John,” Martha soothed, and moved around to the front of her desk. “It’s just your answers on the questionnaire didn’t indicate quite that, um, level of _immediate_ interest -- and neither did your video!”

“So, what?” John laughed. “Is there a box I should’ve ticked that says - what, that I’m a tart?”

“Something along those lines,” she said. “I can tick that box for you, but you will need to re-record your video entry, just to reinforce that ticked box. No charge, of course.”

John sighed, but agreed, and went to work on redrafting his script.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> I've been inspired by the idea of a "limited series" (a la _The Young Pope_ , _Patrick Melrose_ , etc.) and so decided to try a "limited series WIP"! All total, this story will consist of five chapters (plus an afterward, because i really couldn't resist). 
> 
> Also new? This is my first "Mature"-rated fic, so expect a less explicit story than usual (but there is still hotness, I promise)!
> 
> END NOTES:  
> \- [Awkward video dating clips](http://www.businessinsider.com/found-footage-awkward-80s-video-dating-2015-12) were the inspiration for this fic!  
> \- The music played during this recording session was the agonizingly sappy [ "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" by Bryan Adams](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ppuWCTnTQRA).  
> \- Music is important to this fic. [Thanks to Billboard for helping me keep the music choices era-appropriate](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billboard_Year-End_Hot_100_singles_of_1991)!  
> \- [Thanks also to Pantone for helping me pick era-appropriate colors](https://www.pantone.com/pages/pantone.aspx?ca=90&pg=21111) for the description of the Infinite Compatibility logo.  
> \- John's Infinite Compatibility number is [1895, natch](https://allpoetry.com/poem/8599039-221b-by-Vincent-Starrett)...  
> \- Mike's number is 1135 because [St. Barts Hospital was founded in 1123](https://www.bartshealth.nhs.uk/st-bartholomews-our-history). :-D
> 
> For returning readers, welcome back, and for brand new readers, hello! I'm honored to have you all here -- and I hope to see you next week!  
> <3  
> vex.


	2. Take 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If at first you don't succeed...

 

_The camera is recording again._

_“Back again? That was quick.”_

_“Apparently I didn’t represent my interests clearly enough the first go around.”_

_“No doubt. Sometimes it’s like that.”_

_“Well, here’s to making a clearer impression.”_

_John isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he’d been before, but it’s still awkward, isn’t it? Trying to come up with who you are in 100 words or less? He worries with the edge of his notecards as the tech adjusts the shot. Color Me Badd plays on the boom box, and the tech distractedly hums along._

_“‘Sometimes it’s like that?’”_

_“Hm?”_

_“You said ‘sometimes it’s like that’ - how often is it that people have to record a second time?”_

_“Not often. But they always give up after three, anyway.” Once again, he abruptly stops the music and presses record. “You can begin at any time.”_

_John smooths his hair, glances down at his cards, and then, after a moment of concentration, lifts his head and gives the camera his most beguiling smile. “Hello, I’m John. I’m a single Doctor living in London. I’m not looking for anything serious, but I do like pubs, rugby and having fun. If you like having fun, too, let’s meet for a pint! I’m #1895, and I can’t wait to meet you.”_

_“Did you mean to say it that way?”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Punching the word ‘wait’ like that?”_

_“What’s wrong with it?”_

_“Well, you might as well have have added a sexy growl and pawed at the screen.”_

_John rolls his eyes. It’s bad enough he has to re-record, now he’s being critiqued by the tech geek? “Look, I’m trying, alright? According to Martha, I didn’t properly communicate my ‘sexual interests’ in the first one!”_

_The tech pauses, and then busies himself with the VCR. “Well done then -- you’ve certainly accomplished your goal.”  For emphasis, he snaps the lens over the camera and the image goes dark, but tape still rolls. “This will be ready for distribution by this afternoon.”_

_“Great,” says John, over a black screen. “Can’t wait to see the response.”_

_The audio ends._

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

His second match, #1881, was Greg, a detective of some sort with the police, and christ, he was even better looking in person than he had been in his video. John was half-hard before they got through with their introductions, and apparently the feeling was mutual. Two drinks later and they were grappling in the loo of the pub, John gripping the edge of the stall door.

“Your number is not that far away from mine -- you must’ve joined the video service fairly, ah...fairly recently?” John said, his breath hitching, attempting to make small talk.  

“Yeah, about three months ago? Right after the divorce.” Greg said, expertly palming the front of John’s jeans. "But most of the blokes I’ve fucked from the dating service haven’t been nearly as hot as you.”

And with that, Greg’s mouth went to his. He smelled like trouble, like cigarette smoke and gasoline, leather and Guinness, and fuck if John wasn’t enjoying this date, even if they were snogging like teenagers in a public house loo (or perhaps because of it)? John had forgotten how very much he appreciated taller men -- the way their hands felt in his, the stretch of their long legs, pressing between his own, their very stature forcing him to look up at them, putting him in a very specific, very sexual space, one he’d never allowed himself to define. In the end, though, John didn’t care: he just gave in to it, to him, to Greg’s mouth and fingers and hands, all working together in a concerted effort to completely take him apart.

He came quickly, at the mercy of Greg’s impossibly skilled mouth. “Fucking hell,” he panted, but Greg wasn’t anywhere near done, and responded by lifting John up off the ground, pressing his back against the stall door.

“Goddamn, Greg,” John wrapped his arms around Greg’s shoulders and tugged lightly on his spiky gray hair. “How are you so good at this?”

“Practice, John.” Greg leered. “Practice, practice, practice,” he said in such a way that John immediately regretted ever doubting the Infinite Compatibility algorithm.

Twenty minutes later, they returned to the pub proper and ordered another round, grinning like fools.

“That was...wow. Seriously.” John said, and took a long pull from his pint. He couldn’t help but wonder: if Greg was that impressive in a stall, how amazing would he be in a proper bed? A hotel, perhaps, next time - the last thing he wanted was to bring anyone over to his depressing little bedsit. Then again, John thought, considering Greg’s recent marital change, perhaps he was living in his own depressing little bedsit and would understand. He watched Greg light a cigarette, watched the smoke curl around his shoulders and couldn’t help but notice the indent in his ring-finger, still there after three months, the ghost of his marriage.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I can’t imagine anyone divorcing someone who can do all of - well, that,” John said, nodding towards the loo.

“I don’t mind you saying that at all. But the ex wasn’t into much of that.” Leaning in confidentially, Greg added, “To be honest, I’ve had more sex in the last three months than I had in the last three years.”

“For real?” John asked, and lifted his pint. “Cheers to that, mate!” They clinked glasses. John was happy. Hopeful, even. They could be good for one another, he thought. Beyond the mind-blowing sex, they might be able to help each other heal and re-adjust to their new normals.

“Yeah, it’s been a wild ride,” Greg ran a hand through his hair. “I married my high school sweetheart, so the revelation of no-strings-sex with strangers, it’s been a real turning point for me.”

“No-strings, yeah, I can appreciate that,” John said, carefully. _What was he saying?_

“That’s why I keep a strict ‘one and done’ policy. One hook-up and I move on, you know?” Greg tapped out his ash into the ashtray. “The video dating service has been so great for this. I’m just not ready for anything beyond one night, won’t be for awhile.”

John nodded, reflexively. Smiled. Licked his lips. “Right, of course. You gotta -- gotta, protect yourself.” He looked down at the table and focused on the texture of the woodgrain. “I mean, if you don’t, who will, right?”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
  
“So, your first connection wasn’t sexual enough, and your second was too sexual?” Martha Hudson shook her head. “I’m not going to lie, John, this is starting to feel like Goldilocks.”

“I’m just saying that Greg was great and all, but he’s using Infinite Compatibility like it’s some kind of computerized escort service. Like a bloody Blockbuster, but for sex!”

“Some people are just looking for sex, John. Like you were, just last week.”

“That’s not fair, Martha -- I was never ONLY looking for sex.”

Martha eyed him from across the coffee table for an uncomfortable amount of time before finally sighing. “Okay, let’s try this again,” she said. “I’ll tweak your profile again, add in more relationship interests, and slightly lower the sexual quotient. Fair enough?”

“Great,” John said. “And the video?”

“Will have to be rewritten by you and re-recorded. Again. I’ll schedule the tech.” Martha stood, and John followed suit. “Don’t lose faith, John. The Infinite Compatibility system may take a little time, but we always find your match.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, you tell him, Martha! ;-p
> 
> END NOTES:
> 
> \- The music played during this recording session was the perfectly cringeworthy ["I Wanna Sex You Up" by Color Me Badd](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO6BtpIzIiM).  
> \- Greg's Infinite Compatibility number is 1881, which was the publication date of “A Study in Scarlet”, Lestrade's first appearance in canon;  
> \- No 90's fic would be complete without a mention of the [now very nearly, almost completely (but not quite) defunct Blockbuster Video](https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-45175194).
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's date, y'all!  
> <3  
> vex.


	3. Take 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third time's the charm...

 

_By now, the red light feels familiar._

_“Third time’s the charm, right?”_

_“We can only hope, John. Heard you had some fun on your last date.”_

_“Martha is a gossip.”_

_“Obviously. But she means well. Can you count again for me?”_

_“1-2-3-4-5-6...listen: you were right about the last time, you know? What I said in the video was a bit much.”_

_“It’s fine. Refining your wants and needs can be a difficult process.”_

_The lights in the makeshift studio always shine directly into the subject’s face, casting everything behind the camera in shadows. John squints, to read the tech’s expression, but with no luck. There’s silence for a moment, until the tech speaks again._

_“So, what’s the adjustment this time?’”_

_“Adjustment?”_

_“Last time you needed to up the sexual quotient -- and now?”_

_“Back it down a bit? More importantly, be more specific about what I’m looking for?”_

_“Never a bad idea. Tricky, sometimes, though.”_

_“You’re not kidding.”_

_“Somehow, I think an Army doctor can handle it.”_

_It takes a moment for John to register that the tech not only remembers his background details, but that he thinks those details make him more capable of meeting a challenge. John quirks a smile, and flips through his notecards for distraction._

_The tech hums along with the Chris Isaak tune playing on the ever-present boom box, and John wonders if the seemingly endless parade of love songs they always play in the studio leading up to the recording is a whim of the tech's, or if it’s company policy. Somehow, the cloying offerings don’t quite seem like the kind of music the tech would play for himself, really._

_“Alright,” The tech says, adjusting one of the barn doors on a lighting instrument before shutting off the music. “We’re ready whenever you are, John.”_

_John looks up as the silhouette of the lanky tech drifts behind the camera. He clears his throat before speaking._

_“Hi. I’m John, and I’m looking for someone...unique, I guess? Beyond the types I’ve met so far, anyway. Someone exciting, challenging, maybe someone who will expand my horizons? Someone who is clever, capable, open-minded about both sex and romance, and fearless - or at least not afraid to take on a bloke like me. I am #1895, hope to see you soon.”_

_“Better than the last time, I’ll give you that.”_

_“I guess we’ll just have to see, right?”_

_In the video, John lifts his hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes against the light._

_The recording stops._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

John had to give it to his next date - the man definitely knew how to make an impression.

An elegant card slipped under his front door, stating a time and date, a suggested dress code and an address where to meet. Instead of a proper signature, it was simply signed with the man’s Infinite Compatibility code - #1021.

Perhaps John should have been concerned by the fact that his date had somehow managed to discover his home address, but he wasn’t. Anonymity was important, of course, and a hallmark of the video dating service, but the fact that his date had gone to all the trouble to seek him out just to leave a note, well, it was exciting - and after all, wasn’t that what he’d asked for?

The day of the date, John put on his best suit, which he hadn’t done since returning home from the war. The image in the mirror pleased him in a way he hadn’t expected. He splurged on a taxi, but when the driver pulled in at the designated address, John was confused. The building appeared to be a rather unassuming-looking administrative building, but upon closer inspection, he understood he’d deeply underestimated both the building and his date. At the door, not one, but two doormen in gray morning coats greeted him, and once inside, a concierge immediately approached him.

“Dr. John Watson?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Excellent. Will you follow me, Sir?”

They passed through elegantly appointed hallways, and it immediately became apparent that this was a hotel -- perhaps the most expensive and exclusive hotel John had ever set foot in. Again, perhaps this should have been a red flag for John, that his date had chosen a hotel as their first meeting place, but he was intrigued, and well, it was a public place. If his date suggested retiring upstairs, it wasn’t like he couldn’t say no.

At the end of the hall was a dark, intimate bar. Music played low and voices were hushed. The concierge escorted him to a table, and pulled out his chair.

“Mr. Moriarty will be here promptly,” The concierge said, before passing him off to his cocktail server. “Welcome to The Lanesborough, Sir.”

“Thank you,” John said, and as the concierge walked away, he vaguely wondered if he should have tipped the man. He ordered a whisky, neat, and tried to quiet the butterflies in his stomach. He was quite curious to meet this “Mr. Moriarty.”

As it turns out, that curiosity would not be sated, at least not on that night. Just as John began to get impatient, a well-dressed man roughly the size of a wall approached his table and explained that Mr. Moriarty had been unexpectedly detained in Oslo and wouldn’t be joining John that evening after all. The man gave John a sealed envelope with his name on it, and then left as quickly as he’d arrived. Inside the envelope was a note that encouraged John to enjoy a nice dinner and perhaps even a stay at the hotel, all on Mr. Moriarty, in his absence. There was no apology for missing the meeting, but there was a hotel key.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

“Martha, it was creepy,” John shook his head. “Serious ‘Pretty Woman’ vibe. Probably had cameras all over that hotel room.”

“Think you’re overreacting a little? His flight was probably just delayed.”

“Maybe it was, but you didn’t see the thug he sent. You didn’t read the note he left.”

“Suggestive?”

“Weirdly familiar. Called me ‘darling’, and ‘pet’,” John shuddered. “Look, even if he isn’t the psychopath I’m imagining him to be, he’s not right for me. I knew he wasn’t tall enough going in.”

“Fair enough. I’ll look into him as well. Can’t be too careful. And you like tall, then, do you?”

“I do. Which I know is laughable, considering my own height.”

“You’re a lovely height, John,” Martha smiled, and stood. “Drink?” she asked. On John’s assent, she pulled two crystal glasses from the sideboard, as well as a bottle, and settled in on the sofa opposite John, pouring drinks for each of them as she spoke. “So. So far, John, you’ve had three dates, three experiences with Infinite Compatibility, but none have panned out. How are you feeling about the process?”

“Well, you know I only started with all of this because my sister gave me a gift,” John said simply. “It’s not like I came here looking for ‘The One’ or anything like that.”

“Yes, I’m aware. But?”

“But, I’m not going to lie. It’s easy to get caught up in the game of it, right?” John smiled, sheepishly. “It’s...flattering, yeah, when people choose you to date. And it’s fun when you choose them.”

Martha leaned forward. “And now?”

John licked his lower lip, tasting the scotch that lingered there. “Well, to be honest, right now I’d just like to have one good date. You know, without miscommunication or disappointment or creepy messages from Oslo.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? Why does anyone want a good date?”

“Let me clarify my question,” Martha said, sipping her drink meditatively. “Do you want this ‘one good date’ so you can feel better about yourself, or do you want it because you want to find love?”

John sat back in his chair, and resisted the urge to defend himself. Instead, he stopped, and truly considered his answer to her question.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do YOU think John would answer Martha's question? ;-p
> 
> END NOTES:
> 
> \- The music played during this recording session was (the admittedly still sexy) ["Wicked Game" by Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlJew-Dw87I).  
> \- Moriarty's Infinite Compatibility number is 1021, which is October 21st, Andrew Scott's birthday;  
> \- The hotel Moriarty chooses for his date with John is [The Lanesborough, one of the most exclusive hotels in London](https://theluxurytravelexpert.com/2016/03/09/review-lanesborough-london). 
> 
> Stay tuned for what happens next, y'all!  
> <3  
> vex.


	4. Take 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some of us don't give up after three..."

 

_The red light beckons..._

_“You again?”_

_“Me again. You see? Some of us don’t give up after three.”_

_“Outlier. Fascinating. What’s the adjustment this time?”_

_“Honesty.”_

_The tech arches his brow, thinks for a moment, and then moves into action, adjusting the mic and lights until they are just so. In the background, over the boom box, Lenny Kravitz reminds everyone within earshot that “it ain’t over until it’s over.”_

_“I’ve always wanted to ask you - do they make you play that music?”_

_“You caught me - I’ve a secret fondness for the sappiest of romantic songs.”_

_“So that’s a yes?”_

_The tech rolls his eyes. “The logic is that it will put customers in a romantic mood, and thereby generate a more authentic recording.”_

_“Does it work?”_

_“It’s your fourth time here, you tell me. Count for me?”_

_John does as asked, and looks through his new notes. Occasionally he looks up to allow the tech to check the lighting, the focus, and soon, everything is ready to go -- but this time, instead of moving behind the camera, the tech lifts the camcorder off the sticks and up onto his shoulder._

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Something different,” the tech says with a small shrug, and kneels down onto the floor. “Honesty - real honesty - requires a different approach. Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”_

_“Instead of reading from a card? Is that, you know, okay?”_

_“It’s allowed. It may take a little longer to edit -- it’ll be a day or so before your new tape is ready. Will that work?”_

_“Sure.” In the background, the music continues. With a little apprehension, John puts down his cards. “So how do we do this?”_

_“Well,” The tech looks up at John from under a fringe of curls. “We’ll just have a conversation, and then I’ll edit the best soundbites together. Sound good?”_

_John nods. “Let’s give it a shot.”_

_“Brilliant!” The tech smiles, and adjusts his position on the ground. “Okay, so,” the tech begins casually, angling the camera upwards and framing John in a relaxed-looking medium shot. “First question: Saudi Arabia, or Iraq?”_

_John didn’t expect that. “Pardon me?”_

_“Your military service. Operation Granby was primarily centered around Iraq, but some worked in Saudi as well.”_

_John nods, impressed by his understanding of the war. “Mostly Iraq, yeah, but I had a few missions in Saudi Arabia. Kuwait, too.”_

_“Do you miss it?”_

_“What? The middle east?”_

_“No. The war.”_

_John pauses, the smile on his face fading. “What kind of question is that?”_

_“An honest one.”_

_John shifts on the loveseat, uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his head, eyes averted. “Yes, I suppose. In a way. Not the fighting, or the terrible things we saw, but...the excitement. The not-knowing what your day would hold.” He looks up to the camera lens. “Not, perhaps, the best answer, I know.”_

_“But a true one,” the tech nods, and moves around him. “I know some other truths about you, too: Your relationship with your family is contentious, and you haven’t many friends. ”_

_“Well, none of that’s your damn business, is it?” John spits, surprised by the statements and, well aware that the tech is zooming in for a tighter shot. “How the fuck do you presume--”_

_“--you’re also quite a good doctor and exceedingly loyal in the relationships you do enter into.”_

_In the viewfinder, a closeup of John’s now-frowning face. “No. Now you’re just flattering me to make up for being an arse.”_

_“I’m not. Basic observation. You have quite dexterous hands and a very steady disposition, even when stressed. Hallmarks of a good doctor, especially during wartime. In fact, remind me to get a shot of your hands before we finish.”_

_John ignores his remark. “And my loyalty?”_

_“That’s easy,” The tech smirked. “You’re still here, aren’t you? Others would’ve fucked off by now, demanding their money back. But you’ve connected with Martha, you feel at home here. You’re even willing to put up with me. You’re going to see this through to the end. Loyal.”_

_John nods, slowly, willing to acquiesce the point, but remains skeptical. “And the situation with my friends and family? Did you come to those conclusions through observation, as well?”_

_“I did meet your sister when she came in. It was clear she bought your membership with the sole intention of making you squirm, which is not good -- and I’m sure that if you’d had a strong network of friends you wouldn’t have been focusing on this video dating process quite as exclusively as you have over the last few weeks.”_

_John’s mouth tightens, and his left hand clasps. “Right, okay, can we stop this now?”_

_“Look, we don’t have to include anything in this that you don’t want to include,” the tech says, but still the red light blinks._

_“No. Really. I’d like to stop.”_

_The tech pulls the camcorder away from his face, and brings it to his side. “I’m...sorry. May I?” he gestures to the loveseat. John shrugs, and the tech eases onto the cushion. “I overstepped, clearly. Sometimes I can’t help it.”_

_“What? Nosing into people’s lives?”_

_“Observing behaviours. Drawing conclusions. It unnerves people.”_

_“Particularly when you’re shoving a camera in their face.”_

_The tech laughs a little at the image. “Yes, I suppose that does makes it worse.”_

_“Pretty impressive skill, through,” John says, relenting. “Unnerving, but extraordinary.”_

_“Do you think so?” the tech asks. “That’s not what people normally say.”_

_“What do they normally say?”_

_“Things you can’t say on camera,” the tech grins, and John laughs. The tech slides his eyes to John, hopefully. “So, does this mean I can ask you a few more questions? Just to give me something to work with for the video?”_

_John, arms folded across his chest, considers the request. “I suppose you can’t make a video out of my war history alone - so, okay. Two. Two more questions. No more.”_

_“I can make that work, “ The tech smiles, and stands, reaches for a small rolling stool that puts him eye-level with John. “Two questions, okay.” He slides the chair forward, ever closer to John, and adjusts the shot. “Let’s start with an easy one, ok? The question is: what is love to you?”_

_“Oh god. That’s easy?” John says, and barks out a laugh. “Just like that? You want me to just define what love is?”_

_“Yes. Too much of a challenge?”_

_“No, I can handle it,” John assures him, brashly. He’s not going to be thrown by a question like that - although for a moment, truth be told, he does consider standing up and walking out. It’s a ridiculous question, certainly difficult to answer spontaneously, and the pressure of the camera being so close to him, alongside the sudden proximity of the tech, makes him tense. John realises that the last few minutes have been the clearest he’s seen the tech’s face in their entire association, and even now, obscured by a giant fucking camcorder, he can see that it’s not a bad face, as faces go. John pushes the thought aside, the insistent blinking light preventing him from following the train of thought further._

_“Love. Right.” John clears his throat, and slowly works his hands over the tops of his thighs.  “Okay... thing is, I know what you want, right? A pat answer. A soundbite?” He lifts his brow, and while his question is directed to the cameraman and not the camera, they are, currently, one and the same. “You want something harmless and universally appealing that is reassuring and fits in with all the love songs on that boom box. But I can’t give you that. I can’t. I’m sorry. Because love isn’t like that. It’s messy and disruptive and spontaneous, and sometimes it’s bloody awful. You can’t choose who you love, no one can, which means that no matter who you are, your heart will, at some point, be broken. And sometimes, it will hurt for a very long time. So no, not fond of love, in general. Not yet, anyway.” John’s eyes avert on this, and for a moment, the tech’s finger lingers over the record toggle button._

_John, however, isn’t finished. “But you know what I do like? I like romance. I like the rituals, the little looks, the brush of someone else’s fingers over your own and handwritten notes on the fridge. I like nicknames and handholding and knowing exactly how someone likes their tea. God, I know I sound like an idiot -  but it’s the truest thing I know. Love may be suspect, but romance makes it all worthwhile, for as long as you can make it last. And some people are lucky enough to make it last for a very long time. I’d like to be one of those people.”_

_There’s silence for a moment, and John’s immediately self-conscious, moving his eyes from the camera lens to the tech. “So, I mean...did that answer your question?”_

_The tech nods, pulling the camera slightly away from his eye. His expression is a little dazed, his voice is suddenly rough, and it takes him a moment to respond. “Yeah, that was...brilliant. Really quite good.”_

_“You think?”_

_The tech pulls the camera away from his face altogether, and looks at John sincerely. “I always mean what I say, John.”_

_And for a moment, John’s breath hitches in his throat, the intensity of the tech’s response unexpected. He nods and coughs, to cover the pause._

_“Good. Are you ready for the last one?” The tech lifts the camcorder, and shoots him an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complex than the last one.”_

_John laughs, grateful for the break in tension. “_ **_More_ ** _complex. Great.”_

_“Okay, so final question - and again, feel free to take your time with this one, it’s quite loaded,”_

_“Yeah, fine,” John says, slight impatience rising. “Hit me.”_

_“So here goes,” the tech says, quite seriously, and leans in. “How do you feel about dancing?”_

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Days later, John was on his way back from shopping when he saw the now-familiar Infinite Compatibility package on his front steps. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was eager and curious to see his new matches, and to see how the new approach might have impacted them -- but he forced himself to put away all the groceries before finally opening a beer and sitting down in front of the VCR with the box.

He slipped his pocket knife beneath the plastic packing tape and opened the cardboard flaps. Inside, he’d expected to find the usual contents -- a congratulatory form letter from Martha announcing that the computer had found matches for him, biographies of the top three candidates and three VHS tapes, one for each candidate. The VHS tapes would hold the candidates videos, and it would be John’s responsibility to choose which of the three he’d like to date.

This time, however, was anything but usual.

Inside the box, there was no letter from Martha, and instead of three bios and three VHS tapes, there was only one of each. Along the spine of the lone videotape was written the number #0001, in magic marker. The bio was labelled with the same number, with a name written beside it: “Sherlock”.

According to the bio, this “Sherlock” person had a degree in chemistry, enjoyed boxing and playing violin, and worked on some sort of freelance basis in criminal investigations -- so, smart AND cultured AND perhaps a bit rough-and-tumble as well.

John took a long pull of his beer.

Also according to the bio, the man had never been married and didn’t have kids. He was a smoker, which wasn’t fantastic, but there were, after all, worse habits. On paper, this “Sherlock” person seemed interesting, definitely worth consideration, pending confirmation that he was at least moderately good-looking. John removed the videotape from its case and placed it into the VCR housing, pressing down until, after a pleasing series of mechanical noises, static hissed and roiled on the screen. Once the playback located the control track, the image went to black, and then the video began to play.

For a moment, John was simply confused.

Instead of a stranger sitting on that studio loveseat, as there had been in every other Infinite Compatibility video, the video simply showed an empty corner of the studio and the sound of his own voice. “ _1, 2, 3, 4...I really don’t know why I’m bloody doing this.”_

The camera adjusted then, and zoomed into his face. _“You’re recording now? Oh, It’s-- okay, fantastic.”_

John assumed it was a mistake -- that some raw footage tapes from his previous recordings had somehow ended up in the wrong case? -- and he was annoyed: first they’d skimped on the number of matches sent and now this? The bio had done its job, had made John very curious about this “Sherlock” person, and he’d really wanted to see what the man might actually be like.

But then the video cut to another shot of him, from another day: John rolling his eyes. Then to a wider shot with John laughing. John smoothing his hair. John studying his notecards. John giving the camera his most beguiling smile before saying “Hello, I’m John.”

This...wasn’t a mistake.

More shots of him on that couch, taken from all the different shoots, some snippets from the notecard-based speeches, some soundbites from the interview, but mostly it was a lot of off-the-cuff stuff -- outtakes. John shielding his eyes from the light, John licking his lips -- several of those, actually. In fact, there were a surprising number of candid clips, recordings of unguarded moments where John wasn’t looking at the camera, moments before or after the primary recordings were done. They were soft, these moments, and John blushed, on reflex, at the tenderness of the compilation. The whole piece ended with a simple montage of John stating his number -- _“Oh, and I’m #1895.” “I’m #1895.” “I am #1895, hope to see you soon.”_

The tape slowly faded to black. John had to hand it to the tech -- that video was amazing, and it certainly showed him in a more positive light than any of the others. Weird that they’d send him a copy of it, but perhaps the tech had decided to include just as an FYI. John leaned in to eject the tape, only to stop when the video suddenly faded back up from black to a shot of the other side of the studio. John sank back down in his chair to see what would happen next.

When the video had faded in, so had the background music -- the bloody boombox again, George Michael this time. And then just when John thought the shot might’ve been a mistake, the tech entered the shot, those impossible eyes looking directly into the camera. How was it that John had never noticed those eyes in person?

The tech smiled, then, and tossed a wild curl out of his face before saying, simply, “Honesty really is the greatest aphrodisiac, John, so fuck the algorithm. My name is Sherlock, and I’m #0001. You know where to find me.”

He walked out of the shot, and then poked his head back in with an afterthought. “Oh, and don’t tell Martha about this. It’s unorthodox. Hm, interesting, another outlier…”

On screen, the tech exited once more, and John watched, his mouth gaping. The screen went to snow before he collected his thoughts enough to grab his jacket and his keys.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Romance is ALIVE, y'all... :-)
> 
> END NOTES:
> 
> \- Two songs played during this take, and both are still awesome - one during John's recording session ([Lenny Kravitz's "It Ain't Over Til It's Over"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmENMZFUU_0), and one during Sherlock's recording ([George Michael's "Freedom '90"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diYAc7gB-0A)).
> 
> Stay tuned for what happens next!  
> <3  
> vex.


	5. Take 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting #0001...

 

“#0001?”

Sherlock, sitting with his back to the door, smiled. He didn’t turn at the sound of John’s voice, though, choosing instead to finish screwing in the whatzit on the spare tripod. “That’s me.” 

“Does that make you Martha’s first lonely heart?”

“It makes me her first guinea pig. Also, her greatest disappointment, I think.” The first few bars of a Queen song began to play on the boombox, and Sherlock telescoped the tripod legs, the problem now fixed. “Until now, anyway.”

From where John stood, he couldn’t help but admire the man’s profile. Even sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by camera parts and hand tools, he still managed to maintain an elegant posture. Eventually, John realized he should at least put forth the semblance of being a normal human being having a normal conversation, rather than reveal himself to be an idiot flabbergasted by the sight of an exceptionally straight spine -- which, of course, is precisely what he was. “Until -- until now?”

Sherlock turned then, at last, effortlessly rising to a standing position. He reached for an audio cable, and began coiling it. “Well, since you’re here, talking to me instead of Martha, I presume you enjoyed the videotape.”

“I did. Very much,” John said, taking a few steps forward. “But don’t pretend that computers made this happen. You made this happen.”

“‘This’? Don’t be silly, John. Nothing’s happened...” Sherlock said, hanging the cable on a hook, and he turned to look pointedly over his shoulder. “...yet.”

That one single-syllable word changed everything, and John crossed the room in an instant, hesitating only when he found himself face-to-face with Sherlock, and even then, only briefly. Sherlock nodded, almost imperceptibly, lifting his chin, daring him, and John was all in. With one hand in Sherlock’s hair, the other stroking his cheek, he pulled the gorgeous man down to him, pulling his lips against his own. For a moment, there was nothing but the taste of one another and the sound of the music playing in the studio, and when they finally came up for air, they both laughed like madmen.

“So, um,” started John, feeling giddy. “Is Martha…?”

Sherlock shook his head. “On holiday until Tuesday. Technically the shop isn’t open right now.”

“But the door was open?”

“Of course. I was hoping you’d come, and you did.” Sherlock stared at him appreciatively, biting his lip, and John knew he won’t be able to take much more of being looked at like that without things moving quite quickly.

“Do you think you should--”

“--put the closed sign up, lock the door, and get you out of that jumper? Most definitely.” Sherlock said, finishing his sentence. He moved toward the door, gesturing “Stay here, alright? Don’t move. I won’t be a minute.”

John, utterly charmed, smiled broadly. “I’ll be here.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_With a tentative push of a button, the red light blinks on…_

_By the time Sherlock returns, John’s already stripped off his jumper, untucked his button down and stepped out of his shoes. He’s not entirely sure why he pressed the camera’s record button when Sherlock left the room. A whim? An unexpected kink?_

_Before he can get a word of warning out about the recording, Sherlock pulls his t-shirt off over his head, and in a split second, their mouths are crushed against one another. Sherlock begins tugging on John’s shirt, hellbent on unbuttoning it quickly. Once undone, Sherlock peels it away with a flourish, to reveal John’s tanned, toned chest -- but in doing so, he also reveals a patchwork of unexpected pink scars on John’s shoulder._

_John immediately goes red-faced. “Oh, just...ignore the, uh--”_

_“You were injured.” Sherlock frowns, eyes locked to the damage._

_The red light on the camera remains steady, recording the moment._

_“It’s...I’m ok. Honestly. It’s just not exactly pretty, I can--”  John reaches for the shirt that Sherlock just discarded on the floor, and Sherlock stops him, his hand resting softly on his arm._

_“No, please. It’s fine. I’m just not used to surprises.” Sherlock lays the shirt neatly over a nearby chair. “We’ve all got our own battle scars, John. You’ll find all of mine soon enough.”_

_Sherlock pulls him closer, then, his lips moving downward, until he’s nipping at the nape of John’s neck, and John is immediately pliant. Sherlock maneuvers them both toward the love seat, tumbling onto the cushions with abandon. John’s eyes awkwardly flicker up to the camera, aware of its presence, even if Sherlock is not. “Hey, Sherlock, listen, I should tell you --” he starts._

_But he’s interrupted by a loud groan from Sherlock, the moment his hands find the seam of John’s trousers and begin stroking him through the fabric. “God, I love being right.”_

_“Right? About what?”_

_“A man of your height, with that long a stride? It doesn’t take a genius, John.”_

_John doesn’t blush this time, but instead, simply arches harder against his hand. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”_

_“Of course I am. It’s been obvious since the moment you first walked into the studio.” Sherlock says, pressing the palm of his hand even more firmly against John’s zipper, while his fingers stroke against the fabric at the crease below. John gasps.  “Drove me mad, imagining you with a prat like 1123.”_

_“Drove you mad? Me?” John says, not even trying to hide his delight at the thought._

_Sherlock sneers, and sits back on his heels. “That’s why I was such an arse to you the day you recorded the overtly sexual take. I knew it would attract the wrong crowd.”_

_“I can take care of myself, you know.”_

_“Of course you can,” Sherlock says, and rakishly pops the button on John’s trousers, dragging the zip open. “And it could’ve been worse, I suppose. If 1021 hadn’t gotten stuck in Oslo, for example.”_

_Something about the way he says that makes John pause. “Oslo?”_

_“Yes, if he’d managed to make the date, god knows what would have happened. I mean, the man’s unhinged, but he’s not without a certain dangerous appeal.”_

_John sits up. “Sherlock -- did you, possibly, have something to do with that plane in Oslo?”_

_After a long pause, and a knowing look, Sherlock busies himself with pulling John’s trousers off. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. How on earth could I, a simple AV Tech in England, force the cancellation of a commercial airline flight in Norway?”_

_John shakes his head. “Boxer. Chemist. Bloody criminal investigator--”_

_“--Consulting Detective.”_

_“Exactly. The point is, you’re anything but simple, Sherlock.”_

_“And you--” Sherlock shifts position, to lean his full weight on John, when something catches the corner of his eye. He turns to John then, his face delighted. “You hit record when I was out of the room.”_

_“I - I was just screwing around,” John says, defensively. “I honestly didn’t think it would work, just pressing one button. We can turn it off.”_

_  
_ _“Why...on earth...would we do that?” Sherlock asks, lowering his head to John’s chest, his words coming out slowly, as his clever tongue makes its way southward._

_“You don’t mind?” John puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, pausing him just to be sure._

_“For god’s sake, John,” Sherlock says, impatiently. “If there’s anything we’ve learned in our time together, it’s that as far as you, me and that camera are concerned--”_

_“Yes?”_

_Sherlock winks. “Well, every take ends up better than the last, doesn’t it?”_

_John smiles, charmed again - and the (heavily) edited version of the tape ends there._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now there's some raw footage I'd kill to get my hands on! :-)
> 
> END NOTES:
> 
> \- The song playing when John arrives at the studio is, appropriately enough, [Queen's "Somebody to Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=kijpcUv-b8M).
> 
>  
> 
> **BUT -- the story is not quite complete, not just yet. Click over to the next chapter for a very important afterward!**
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading  
> <3  
> vex.


	6. Afterward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I'd forget about this guy, did you?

 

_1,111 miles away, a different camera is recording…_

_“‘_ _Flyet har blitt kansellert?’”  Security footage shows a figure standing at a check-in desk, ranting at the customer service agent. His expensive suit is rumpled, and his five o’clock shadow has given away to the beginnings of an actual beard. In the background, a Muzak version of a famous Norwegian pop song plays on the overhead speaker - a fact that’s violently ignored by the angry man. “_ _Yes, yes, I’m quite aware ‘flyet har blitt kansellert,’ and do you know why? Because EVERY flight I’ve tried to take for the past four days has been kansellert! And you, my pretty little dimwitted norseman, are going to get me out of this godforsaken, ice-ridden hellscape or else I will kansellert YOU!”_

_At that, four armed security guards walk into frame and escort the well-dressed figure away from the desk. As he’s taken away, his shouts echo in the hall._

_“This is an outrage! I’ll skin you like a lutefisk! Get your hands off me, you bloody Vikings! This is_ **_bespoke_ ** _Isaac Mizrahi!”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END NOTES:
> 
> \- What was that famous Norwegian pop song playing on Muzak? [None other than the first Norwegian song to hit #1 in the US...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914)  
> \- It should be noted that [lutefisk is not skinned](http://www.dlc.fi/~marian1/gourmet/lutfisk.htm), but rather soaked in lye. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, you guys - it's been a blast!  
> <3  
> vex.


End file.
